Please meet Master Rask this girls loving
Master. Owner of slave leisa{R.}...
Taken from: #10Tribesmen
of GOR
"Look at me, slave," I said.
She looked up, tears in her eyes. "I will speak to you kindly
for a moment," I said. "Listen carefully, for they may be the last
kind words you will hear for a long time."
She regarded me, the guard's hand in her hair.
"You are a slave," I said. "You are owned. You are a female.
You will be forced to be a woman. If you were free and Gorean, you might
be permitted by men to remain as you are, but you are neither Gorean nor
free. The Gorean man will accept no compromise on your femininity, not
from a slave. She will be what he wishes, and that is a woman, fully, and
his. If necessary you will be whipped or starved. You may fight your Master.
He will, if he wishes, permit this, to prolong the sport of your conquest,
but in the end, it is you who are the slave; it is you who will lose. On
Earth you had the society at your back, the result of centuries of feminization;
he could not so much as speak harshly to you but you could rush away or
summon magistrates; here however, society is not at your back, but at his;
it will abet him in his wishes, for you are only a slave; you will have
no one to call, nowhere to run; you will be alone with him, and at his
mercy. Further, he has not been conditioned with counterinstinctual value
sets, programmed with guilt, taught self-hatred; he has been taught pride
and has, in the very air he breathes, imbibed the mastery of females. These
are different men. They are not Earthlings. They are Goreans. They are
strong, and they are hard, and they will conquer you. For a man of Earth,
you might never be a woman. For a man of Gor, I assure you, my dear, sooner
or later you will be."
She looked at me with misery.
The dancer moaned, crying out, as though in agony. Still she
remained impaled upon the slave pole, its prisoner.
"The Gorean Master," I told the blondish girl,"commands sensuality
in his female slaves."
She stared at the dancer, her eyes wide with misery. The hips
of the dancer now moved, seemingly in isolation from the rest of her body,
though her wrists and hands, ever so slightly, move to the music.
"You cannot even move like that now," I told the blondish girl.
"Yet muscles can be trained. You will be taught to move like a woman, not
a puppet of wood." I grinned down at her. "You will be taught to be sensual."
Samos, with a snap of his fingers, freed the dancer from the
slave pole. She moved, turning, toward us. Before us, loosening her veil
at the right hip, she danced. Then she took it from her left shoulder,where
it had been tucked beneath the strap of her halter. With the veil loose,
covering her, holding it in her hands, she danced before us. Then she regarded
us, dark-eyed, over the veil; it turned about her body; then,to the misery
of the blondish girl, she wafted the silk about her, immeshing her in its
gossamer softness. I saw the parted lips, the eyes wide with horror, of
the kneeling, harnessed girl, through the light, yellow veil;then the dancer
had drawn it away from her, and, turning, was again in the center of the
floor.
"You will learn of your womanhood," I told the blondish girl.
"And I will tell you where you will learn it."
She looked up at me.
"At the feet of a Master," I told her.
You can send email to Master Rask here...
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